Wholock OneShots
by Q.Sullivan
Summary: A collection of drabbles and prompts from Tumblr. More to be added
1. Bigger Things

There was a definite sound of rage being flung across the walls of the TARDIS, and for once no one was certain why. The Ponds had stolen away John Watson to explore the confines and infinite hallways of the machine, and now that their little tour had ended and they found stomach growling and intelligence wanting, they happened upon the sinister glares and bantering in the console room, and they knew not why.

"You're obviously bluffing"

"Yeah? You obviously don't have an imagination! All those brilliant thoughts cluttering up your head, _facts_ of Earth and it's boundaries, but you can't even wrap your mind around a little transcendent dimension?"

The dark-haired male let out a scathing laugh, crossing his arms as he stared down the Doctor and his lies, the machinery behind him as he sat back in the console chair. He was amused! He really was, it was the first time in a long time someone had actually tried to pull one over on him, and this 'Doctor' had come the closest by far! "We're in a building, a warehouse of some sort that you've converted into your little...plaything!" He threw his hands out in emphasis, causing the Time Lord to blink and pace about. "But bravo, bravo. You were so close, Doctor to fooling me. You said space and time? The space travel you speak of is barely in it's infancy, we haven't even landed men on Mars yet, and you claim to be from another world entirely? It's not probable, not possible, and certainly not believable"

His face was burning red by now, and in all his years, all nine-hundred years he had never been so insulted by someone's unwillingness to accept the truth about...everything! It was downright frustrating, and his eye caught those of his companions. "Doctor, I think you should just calm down a little" the ginger said quietly, sensing something dangerous about the TARDIS interior and the way the Doctor was glowering so. Even if he couldn't hear Amy, she could feel the tension building between these two geniuses.

"This...this isn't normal for him, is it? The Doctor I mean, with the uh...staring" John questioned to the others, keeping an eye on his Sherlock from this safe distance upon the stairs.

Rory shrugged in the slightest. "I figure he just keeps us around to feel smart, but now that someone's actually questioning him, it might be a bit much for him" Amy and her husband exchanged worried glances while their hands wrapped around the staircase railing. Something was about to happen, and all the energy built up in the room exploded in a second as the Doctor darted about the console, flipping switches, pulling levers and always, _always_ keeping an eye on the consulting detective, who was beginning to show the slightest bit of worry across his strange and wonderful brilliant face.

"Doctor!" Amy yelled, his brashness would be the death of them all! Again!

In a fit, the TARDIS rocked and hurtled roughly, simply because the Doctor was not aiming for a smooth flight, only speed. "You say not possible, Mister Holmes?" he shouted over the loud roar of the engines, making noises he was not used to experiencing. "I'll show you what's possible" As the engines died down, he stalked towards the door, unsure of the predicament they might have been put in as he gripped the door handles of his precious ship. He stole a glance back towards Sherlock, who was looking at him like nothing had happened at all. The Doctor flung open the doors, and stepped outside. Sherlock followed. 

"We're in a field"

"Uh, yes. Seems like it"

"...where?"

The Doctor held up his hands and spun around, gesturing to...everything and a smirk appeared as he pointed towards a set of towering structures in the distance. "Theacrima, Fourteen Twenty-Six by their years. That city over there is Divide, on the edge of the greatest canyon in the Faulgrin galaxy"

Silence passed between them as they stood there in front of the police box, facts and observations passing between equally old and intelligent eyes, each trying to pry open the other in the greatest game of wit either had faced in their lives. Sherlock was the first to smile. "Never doubted you for a second"


	2. Simple Stars

"Beautiful isn't it"

John had a feeling there was much more to this simple statement than Sherlock was letting on. The way he watched the sky, there was almost a light that reflected off of his crystalline eyes, even in this darkness, and he knew that light from somewhere. No, it was not the street lamps or the star light itself, it was...hope? He could almost recognise it as hope. It was the same light he had seen in everyday life, that simple thought that there was always something more, but he certainly did not expect this from his friend, not the cold and calculating Sherlock Holmes that could not remember the rotation of the Earth, the could see through everyone and yet be so distant. Not the Sherlock Holmes that found entertainment in death and saw viable experiments on severed limbs. He had never seen this Sherlock Holmes that walked beside him, who stared up at the sky like he was looking for something, like he ached for knowledge greater in those brilliant specks of light in the sky.

"Thought you didn't care about-"

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it"


	3. Importance

It was a heavy burden that lined the coat pocket of this government man, and a heavy burden it had been for many, many years. It sat in his breast pocket, never moving, always reminding him of that chance meeting, the one he had kept with him all those years ago, and a sigh escaped with another wash of the same memories that haunted and inspired him. Which was more than partly the reason he now sat comfortably on a plane heading towards the United States. Some rubbish business over with the CIA, but it was of little importance to him. It was simply his job to be this important.

_"Just remember, Mycroft" he had said, placing weather and old and still young hands upon the boy's shoulders, "There will come a day when I will come back, and when I do you will be important"_

_"But I'm not important!" he had whined, tears down his face and his mousey hair sticking up like duckfluff. "You're my friend, you have to stay..."_

_"Now now Mycroft, shh... You're getting to be a big boy. And I will let you in on a secret, one that's bigger than the bunny planet we visited, alright? You need to be a big boy, because in a few years, you will have a brother and he will need you. I will miss you terribly. And I promise I will come back, do you hear me?"_

_"Yes, Doctor..."_

_"Now you should go to bed, your mother will be cross if she finds you awake right now"_

It was the last time he had seen the Doctor, and indeed, Sherlock was born when he was seven, Sigurd Holmes died in the war and Mycroft Holmes did become someone important. He was important from his early days, and every day since then he had waited for that Doctor to come back, to see how important he was.

"Mycroft?"

He was greeted by tweed and a scarlet bowtie.


	4. Fatherhood

**This is just a regular Doctor Who drabble, not Wholock. Sorry about that, I just felt the need to write something like this. General fluff**

* * *

><p>"You're not keeping it"<p>

"But Kosch-"

"No!"

The Doctor frowned slightly, cradling the newborn human baby in his arms, bouncing it carefully to calm to poor shrieking creature, who had grown upset at take off. "He doesn't like the TARDIS noise..."

"Why in the name of Gallifrey did you even bring that thing on here!"

"Hey! John is not a thing, he's a sweet and remarkable little thing. And he doesn't like you very much, because you're not mum and you're yelling, so shush"

The Master paused, only for a second, before raising a brow. "'Not mum'? Doctor, you're not thinking about keeping that thing, are you?" For a moment, his brown eyes grew wide and he seemed to wrap around little John protectively.

"Well...no! But I'm going to until I can find him a home. I found him on some steps outside, and I couldn't leave him like this! I mean look at him!" The Doctor positioned the baby in his arms to where he could be easily viewed by the Master, peaceful and sleeping as he was. And strangely, he looked similar to the Doctor, like a long lost son or some rubbish like that. Even in birth and brand-new life, he had similar freckle and the same brown hair, though plastered to his head like it was, it was an uncanny resemblance. "He's all alone and helpless and he doesn't have anyone to look after him..."

An exasperated sigh escaped the other Time Lord, and he rubbed a hand across his brow. "Thete. You're impossible"

"Impossible is only a word. Now let's find a place for this little one to sleep, or rather, let's find a nice glaxy to orbit. I'm sure he would appreciate the colors"

"...It's barely even sentie-"

It was the look in the Doctor's eye though, the one that echoed of a loss he suffered long ago that made Koschei stop and actually look at once. It was so natural how the Doctor looked, holding this baby. Because he'd had a family once, he had known fatherhood and it had been torn away in the worst way possible.

"...I'll go find a...cradle or something"

"Thank you"


	5. Aftermath

How long had it really been?

Really, though. How long. Two years? Three? He'd thought it was time to visit, to give condolences that were already too late, and maybe, just maybe someone would point him in the right direction. Sherlock was too smart for death. It would never really catch him, it just….couldn't. In the rare moments of sleep was when it should have taken him, not as abruptly as it had. He knew better. He knew Sherlock better and right now, the Doctor was on a mission to find him among the billions of people on Earth. Because he knew he was alive.

Right?

He'd visited the flat, popping in to say hello to Mrs. Hudson and examining the empty quarters, tasting the dust, just….looking. John had moved out, no one wanted to move in (something about the smell of decomposition, and the dearest landlady's ramblings), and that had left a hole in his minor investigation. He'd excused himself after a while, and took to wandering the streets again. Lestrade, Molly Hooper, anyone who would know where he is, but they all pulled the dead card. Which got him nowhere in finding his most brilliant of humans.

John though, he was the hardest to speak to. Three years he'd lived with it, three years had gone by and not a word about Sherlock Holmes.

"He's dead, Doctor. Has been" he had said.

"I don't believe that for a minute" was his reply, drumming on the arms of a chair, knuckle pushed up under his lip. He was just thinking. It kept the mind occupied. He shouldn't feel loss for him, he barely knew him, and yet it burned and nagged at the back of his brain. It wasn't how it ended, no. No, there was always a way out, there was always a catch.

"I'm afraid you're wrong Doctor. He's gone. Nothing you can do can prevent it or bring him back"

And poor John. Losing his best friend like this, coping with it, it broke at least one heart, the other remaining strong, firm in his belief.

"Now we both know that's not true"

The army Doctor flinched visibly at his words, and the Time Lord backed off the conversation, not wanting to push it further. He bid him goodbye, and took his leave, stepping back out into the cold air and graying skies without so much as a lead to go on.

Once more, he took in the sad empty sight at 221B Baker, and sighed in defeat. Well, just a day of searching, he could always try again tomorrow, and then the next day, and the next. Just until he knew. Just until he could prove that without a doubt Sherlock was too clever for this, too egotistic and too in love with what he did to stop, even if it had marred his name beyond reputable. Here in this crowd though, he felt it. Somehow though, he knew he wouldn't have to.

Because there. With the short hair and the heavy clothes, it was hard to recognize him, but the one giveaway was that aura that clashed and fought with his own, the one that could only belong to one person in the world. He strode up next to him, glancing skywards as he was.

"Fascinating place" he said. "That….one detective used to live here, I saw it on the telly sometimes-"

"He misses you"

Silence. Without moving, the other shoved hands into his pockets, his demeanor changing completely in the presence of the other he had studied and found so fascinating. He hadn't been counting on him showing up, or even finding him.

"I know"

"Any ideas in seeing him?"

"I've been observing from afar. Thought he'd be better off, but he's just so _normal_. Grieving for far too long, it doesn't suit him at all"

"Yeah, well you certainly gave him a reason to"

"His limp is back, isn't it?"

"Psychosomatic, he regressed back into the pre-Sherlock John Watson we all knew at one point. It's slowly killing him, Sherlock. Even you should know that"

"I'm dead"

"No, you're not, and your best friend needs you"

"What makes you so sure?"

"He's put on about ten pounds—"  
>"Eleven, more likely"<p>

"—got a dog"

"Terrier or lab?"

"Bulldog, Gladstone"

"Never struck me as a bulldog man"

"Sherlock. Go see him"

"Give me a lift?"

"Wouldn't believe you were real if I did"

"….I'll get a cab"

"Oh and by the way? Work on the accent. Scottish isn't your thing"


End file.
